


sweater weather

by benjidunn



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Arguing, Clueless!Hal, Dreams, First Kiss, Flirting, M/M, Post-MGS1, Sharing Clothes, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjidunn/pseuds/benjidunn
Summary: Alaska is cold. Good thing Snake has a closet full of sweaters.
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	sweater weather

Hal’s pissed off, the kind of anger that starts deep in the pit of his stomach like a minor nuisance and then builds and builds gradually until he’s suddenly on the verge of losing his composure completely. The major contributor to his bad mood can be traced back to the latest tip he and Snake had received about a military contractor working on some kind of suspicious nuclear device, simply because all the database firewalls were too hard to beat and the code was too difficult to crack. It’d take hours, even days, for Hal to make a fraction of progress.

Then there was the fact that Snake was out mushing. He did it often enough that Hal often wondered what the hell he was doing all the time with his dogs, because it was rare that he came back with anything like a fish. Not to mention how cold it is. And Alaska is fucking  _ cold. _

The thought nearly makes Hal’s eyes cross out of anger. It’s the kind of cold that permeates deep into his bones, leaving him shivering so hard he’s useless at doing anything. The best he can do is sit in front of the fireplace for hours at a time, but even with that and the thin pair of gloves he wears when it works, it’s nearly impossible to get anything done. Instead, he mopes around Snake’s cabin with a blanket permanently positioned over his shoulders and his face buried into his turtleneck as if it’s his unofficial Philanthropy uniform and keeps a mug of piping hot coffee next to him at all times in a desperate attempt to stay warm.

And it doesn’t  _ work _ .

Hal gnaws on his lower lip as he watches his laptop screen with a furrowed brow. None of his attempts to get past the firewalls have worked so far, and he’s been at this for so long that everything happening in front of him makes less and less sense. His head hurts, his eyes hurt, his fingers hurt, his whole body  _ hurts _ , numb and bored and freezing.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by dog paws sliding and clicking on the kitchen floor. Hal is quick to shove his laptop further back on the desk before two dogs come barreling around the corner into the living room, right in his direction. The eventual and abrupt  _ thud  _ of a husky against his thigh that sends his chair rolling back is just another hit on his mood, but he doesn’t say anything to the dog, lest Snake gets offended. So he remains quiet, bites down on his lower lip harder, tries to shoo the dogs away from him, and becomes even more annoyed when they’re replaced by two other huskies.

“Otacon,” comes a familiar gruff voice, but Hal can’t find it within himself to respond with anything friendly. The grip he has on his lower lip is so tight it’s beginning to ache.

One of the dogs lets out a small bark in Hal’s direction.

“Otacon,” Snake repeats before entering the living room. There's a brief moment of silence before Snake says, rather stupidly, “I’m back.”

“I can see that,” Hal murmurs from his seat.

“You haven’t looked at me.”

Snake's just being cheeky, and he knows it, but Hal’s sense of humor has gone south today.

“Otacon?” Snake repeats.

“What, Snake?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Peachy.”

“Doesn’t sound it.”

“Well, what would you like to hear?” Hal answers, tone becoming more sarcastic with each response.

“What’s wrong.”

“A lot of things.”

“Such as?”

“The fact I haven’t been able to do anything with this shit lead.” He spins around in his chair to look at Snake at last. “The fact that you’re out gallivanting around like this isn’t any of your business.”

“Hey, I put in work, too.”

“It doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I got that lead.”

“And then you left me here while you went out with your dogs,” he responds crossly. 

“I didn’t think there was much I could do for you. Figured you’d want me out of your way.”

“Well, you could have asked. Or been a bit more considerate, you know?”

“Considerate?”

“I have to do a lot, too. Maybe I’m not sneaking around and shooting guns but--”

“Otacon,” Snake interrupts, “what are you going on about?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

“You’ve never mentioned this before.”

“So?”

“It’s out of the blue.”

“Maybe if you ever asked--”

“I  _ am  _ asking.”

“--you’d know that today’s been just awful. I’ve been working on this same database since yesterday and barely made an inch of progress. And you’re out with your dogs like nothing’s wrong while I’m freezing half to death.”

Snake stops for a brief moment, then says, “Why don’t you put on more clothes?”

“You think I have my whole wardrobe with me?”

“You didn’t bring any more warm clothes to Alaska?”

“It’s not like I thought anything that happened would happen.”

“Then we get more clothes.”

“Maybe you can get some next time you go mushing,” Hal mutters as he flips back around in his chair and faces the desk.

“You don’t think I think about this when I’m out.” It’s more of a statement than a question, an assumption that’s not entirely true. Finally, a modicum of guilt slips into his features, because maybe Snake does worry about all this as much as he does, but Hal’s too stubborn to completely give in to that idea yet.

“If you do, it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Sorry.”

It’s abrupt, curt, and maybe completely genuine in that uniquely Solid Snake way, but any sympathy Hal might have is cut short by another shiver that resonates deep within him.

“You’re really cold, aren’t you?” Snake asks.

“Of course I am. I wasn’t lying earlier.”

Snake looks at him silently for one moment, two, three, until he finally heads for his bedroom without another word.

It isn’t resentment that Hal’s feeling, but it’s a less intense version of it. Most days he likes Snake, maybe a little more than he cares to admit, just because it’s hard to resist the charms of a genetically modified super-soldier who seems specifically designed to make anybody swoon, but Snake’s tendency to be a man of few words can be grating. And boy, is it grating today.

He tries turning his attention back to his laptop, but it’s even harder to focus on it now, especially with Snake banging around in the next room. Deep down, he knows that he needs to redirect his attention elsewhere, get his mind off of it, but there’s nothing else for him to do. And even if there was, he wouldn’t be able to do it without obsessing over new ways to get around this problem.

Hal’s musing is suddenly interrupted when the bedroom door swings open again and Snake grunts, “Here.”

A pile of fabric tumbles onto Hal's lap. Hal blinks, then picks it up and allows it to unfurl into a large dark navy knitted sweater.

“Yours?” Hal chokes out, and then immediately scolds himself for stating the obvious.

“Yeah. Thought you could wear it.”

“Won’t it be too big?”

“Do you want to stay warm or not?”

Hal glances up at him. There's no hint of jest in his face.

“Are you gonna put it on?” he asks.

Hal obeys, slipping the sweater over his head and shoving his arms in the sleeves. It’s as big as he thought, everything pillowing and drooping around him like when he was a child trying on his father’s clothes. When he looks at Snake again, his expression has changed, even if minutely. He can’t put his finger on what’s different.

“There,” is all Snake says. “Warmer now?”

Hal’s too distracted by the scent of it to respond immediately. It smells like lumber, pine, huskies,  _ Snake _ . There’s a hint of cologne somewhere, a bizarre synthetic experience among how real everything else is. He never considered Snake the kind of guy to care about cologne.

“Need something better?” Snake asks, and the question pulls Hal back down to Earth.

“No,” he answers timidly. “This is fine.”

* * *

But it  _ isn’t  _ fine.

No, something is very wrong, Hal thinks when he wakes up in Snake’s sweater. He kept it on all night to stay warm, and when he slept he dreamt of him and his stupid bandanna and his stupid muscles and his stupid smirk --

At breakfast, Hal says, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Snake grunts.

“I was just cranky,” Hal continues. “Nothing was going right and I was so cold I couldn’t stand it.”

“Someone who works in Alaska should bring warmer clothes.”

“I told you I didn’t know any of this would happen.”

“I see you’re still in my sweater, at least.” Snake nods his head towards him. “I hope that means it’s working out for you.”

“It is. It kept me warm all night.”

Hal blushes immediately. Stupid, he thinks, that was stupid to say, and his face only turns a darker shade when Snake sends him a sharp look. But any anxiety he has about admitting that he slept in it melts away when Snake says matter-of-factly, “You need another sweater.”

Hal blinks, and then says, “Why? I’m okay with this one.”

“You can’t sleep and work in the same sweater. Let me see what I can do.”

Hal watches with a furrowed brow as Snake gets up and heads towards his room. It only takes a minute before Snake is back, this time with a maroon turtleneck.

“I don’t wear this one too much,” he starts. “I know you like turtlenecks.”

“How do you -- never mind.” Hal takes it and spreads it out in his arms. “It’s a nice color.”

“Yeah.” Snake picks up a pack of cigarettes resting nearby and knocks one out into his hand. “Doesn’t look good on me, though.”

“Don’t be silly, anything looks good on you.”

They both stop suddenly.

_ Oh, god, Hal _ .

He slumps down and looks away from Snake.

“Thanks,” Snake says with a hoarse laugh as he lights up his cigarette. “Bet it’ll look better on you.”

_ Oh,  _ god.

Hal clears his throat, grabs his coffee mug, and gets to his feet. “Off to work, I suppose,” he says, but Snake reaches out an arm to stop him.

“I better see that sweater on you,” he tells him, and Hal can feel himself blushing again.

“Right now?”

“If you say so.”

“But I didn’t--” Hal sighs. “I don’t want to take this other sweater off here, though.”

“Then change in your bedroom.”

“Why do you want to see me in it so bad, anyway?” Hal asks as he gets to his feet, and then he stops. And he realizes. And he thinks to himself that he’s being silly, that whatever assumption he’s drawing is just that, an assumption, one without any sort of grounds in reality. Or at least, any notable grounds in reality. “Uh.”

“Your bedroom’s that way,” Snake says with a nod towards the stairs.

Hal doesn’t add anything else, choosing instead to stew in his embarrassment as he makes his way towards his room. Once there, he peels off the navy blue sweater and shivers as the cool air hits his skin, still warm to the touch. It quickly dissipates, however, when he puts on the next sweater, this one a bit tighter than the former but still loose on his frame. When Hal heads down the stairs into the kitchen, he can see Snake by the sink, sipping on his mug of black dredge he calls coffee, looking out the window with lazy interest.

“There,” Hal starts. “My work uniform is on. Are you happy now?”

Snake turns, flicks his eyes down Hal’s body, then back up again, slowly scanning the sweater in the meantime. There’s that expression from yesterday again.

“Like I said,” Snake says at last, “you look better than me.”

Hal wishes he hadn’t said anything at all.

* * *

_ You look better than me. _

It’s like a song lyric stuck on repeat in his head, playing over and over and over and over until he’s on the brink of going completely insane. Why Snake would say something like that is beyond him, and it’s that reality that drives him to obsess even more over that stupid sentence. Maybe Snake meant nothing at all by it, and it seems only natural that Hal would overthink something Snake said as a meaningless passing remark, but at the same time, it seems like it must mean absolutely everything.

So he scolds himself for being silly, for assuming that any of this was really about Hal or about being more than just business partners. Until the next day when Snake disappears into his bedroom again in the afternoon and starts banging around like he had twice before. The seeds of doubt about Snake’s possibly deeper intentions from before appear in Hal’s mind once again, but they don’t fully take root, especially not when Snake reappears, this time with a black turtleneck in hand.

Hal stares at it for a moment before saying, “What’s that?”

“A sweater,” Snake answers simply.

“I can see that. I mean--” Hal sighs. “Don’t tell me it’s for me.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve already given me two sweaters.”

“They’ll get dirty eventually. Now you’ll have a third one to wear.” Snake juts his hand out towards Hal, sweater dangling from his fingers.

“I can just wash the other two.”

“I don’t wear this one all that often, anyway.”

“Why are you being so insistent?” Hal asks, voice on edge.

“I want you to be warm. Is there a problem?”

“No, it’s just…” He falters as he takes the sweater from Snake. “...unexpected, that’s all.”

“You’ve been less upset since I gave you my sweaters, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then keep wearing them.”

“But,” Hal starts, but there’s nowhere else to go. He can’t quite piece together what’s happening. Instead, he sits there with the sweater in his lap, mind reeling, trying to make sense of all this.

“Let me know when you decide to put it on,” Snake continues. “I have a feeling it’ll fit you perfectly.”

He has to be on a mission to drive Hal crazy, that’s the only explanation. Snake’s being so --  _ flirtatious _ , that’s the word he’s been avoiding for so long, the one he didn’t want to admit to himself. And it’s bad news, terrible news, because Hal’s been harboring a crush on him since the moment he was in sound enough mind after they met to realize how attractive the man in his midst was, but he had never addressed it, never got close enough to toy with the concept in fear of falling too deep into something he couldn’t crawl back out of.

And here Snake is, making it a thousand times harder.

He must do this to everyone, Hal thinks, because any kind of reassurance that this situation isn’t what he’s hoping -- thinking -- it is settles that burning sensation deep in his stomach.

“I will,” Hal finally chokes out, and a faint smile ghosts across Snake’s lips.

* * *

Hal dreams of Snake, of his jaw, his muscles, his lips. He dreams of his arms, so bulky and strong, wrapped around him, at first with the jerky urgency that comes with rescuing someone, just like Snake always does, until it dissolves into something gentler, more careful. He dreams of Snake’s face only inches away from his, every little detail of it jarringly apparent to Hal, and god, does he want more.

When he wakes, he’s wearing the black turtleneck. It fits snugly around him.

_ Motherfucker _ .

* * *

By the time a week passes, Hal has bypassed the firewall and unlocked a plethora of secrets as to where he and Snake should go to next. He has plenty to work on, enough where Snake going out shouldn’t bother him nearly as much just from the sheer volume of what he has left to do, and yet, it’s hard for him to focus. A week should be long enough to get used to everything, like the way Snake’s scent is embedded deep into the fabric of each sweater, but the more his dream replays in his head, the harder it is for him to think about anything else outside of  _ Snake _ .

It’s embarrassing to be this old and yet hopelessly crushing on someone he has nothing more than a friendly professional relationship with. The sweaters only worsen matters, but he can’t take them off, not when they’re doing the job of keeping him warm so well. So he sits at his laptops, a warm blush forming in his cheeks whenever Snake lurks by, praying that he doesn’t notice the way Hal loses his composure around him.

He immediately loses the battle when Snake appears once more with a sweater in his arms.

“Snake,” Hal mutters, face turning scarlet.

“What?”

“Not another sweater…”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He blushes even harder when he takes the sweater in his hands. “You’ve given me an awful lot of these.”

“Only four.”

“Yeah, but…” Hal swallows.

“But what?”

“It feels like maybe you’re…” He gives a nervous laugh. “I mean, it feels like, uh--”

God, he doesn’t know where to go with this. Snake’s eyes are boring holes into him, waiting for Hal to say anything at all, but he can’t spit out what’s on his mind.  _ Flirting with me _ , he thinks,  _ it feels like you’re flirting with me _ , but Snake’s reaction to an assertion like that is impossible to gauge.

“Never mind,” Hal finally squeaks out.

He tries to turn around in his chair, but he’s stopped when Snake suddenly grabs onto his wrist firmly.

“Hal,” Snake starts, and the sound of his name, not just  _ Otacon _ , causes him to shiver uncomfortably. “What’s wrong?”

His face is too hot, hotter than he prefers, and he’s as useless as a deer in headlights with Snake holding onto him like that. He’s absolutely, positively trapped; there’s no way out of it now.

Hal swallows, adverts Snake’s gaze, and murmurs, “You’re flirting with me.”

The grip on his arm tightens momentarily, and then suddenly goes soft.

“I hope this isn’t your idea of flirting,” Snake answers finally, flexing his fingers around Hal’s wrist again.

“I meant the sweaters.”

Snake’s quiet, intimidatingly so. Hal waits, struggling to keep his breathing steady, regretting every course of action he ever took in his life to end up in this situation, until, at last, Snake grunts and says, “And what if I was?”

Relief floods Hal’s body, or maybe fear, or maybe just an overwhelming sense of  _ oh my god I need to die _ . It’s icy cold, whatever it is, causing goosebumps to prickle down his arms, and a shudder to race down his spine.

“What?” Snake asks. “Something wrong?”

“I wasn’t expecting that answer.” Hal’s mouth is dry as cotton.

Snake barks out a laugh, and for a moment, Hal’s heart swells. It swells enough that Hal can’t hold back his own tired laugh.

“Sorry, Snake,” he mumbles. “It must sound so silly--”

“Call me Dave, please,” Snake --  _ Dave  _ \-- interrupts, before he suddenly moves forward and bumps their noses together.

Now Hal’s heart clenches in his chest. “What are you doing?”

“You figure it out.”

“It seems like you’re trying to k--”

He hardly needs the sweaters anymore when Snake’s lips touch his.


End file.
